A Compromising Position
by maytheoddsPN12
Summary: Katniss Everdeen's politician husband is embroiled in a sex scandal, one that lands him in prison and threatens to break up their marriage. Desperate for a distraction from a tumultuous home life, she seeks employment at an old friend's law firm after ten years out of the courtroom. Will she find professional success, or something a little more unexpected? [The Good Wife crossover]


_Author's Note: Ever since I started watching The Good Wife, I started seeing parallels between Will Gardner and Peeta Mellark / Katniss Everdeen and Alicia Florrick. Then this story started to take shape. I borrow liberally from The Good Wife's season 1 plotline, but I will make major adjustments as needed. Even if you don't watch the show, I think this story will have some appeal. Enjoy!_

…

**BREAKING: S.A. HAWTHORNE ADMITS TO SEX SCANDAL**

_Panem—_ Just moments ago in a press conference, State's Attorney Gale Hawthorne admitted to circulating rumors about a sex scandal.

His wife, Katniss Hawthorne (née Everdeen) stood by his side at the platform as he made his public confession.

"I admit that I have committed transgressions in my personal life and in my marriage," Hawthorne said in a statement. "But I will not admit that these transgressions have had any effects on my professional career."

Hawthorne referred to accusations that his liaisons with a prostitute were financed by dipping into state funds as "scurrilous charges" and assured the public that he was "a better state's attorney than a husband."

"I expect that the public will meet my admission of guilt with outrage. That is why I plan to resign from my position as state's attorney," Hawthorne announced to the shock of the members of the press.

"I need to focus on rebuilding my marriage, but that can only be done outside of the public eye," Hawthorne explained in a characteristically stoic fashion before shutting down the press conference. He left the stage with Ms. Hawthorne in hand.

…

It was just the first in a flurry of articles about the affair.

The camera crews soon followed. I'd look outside my window in the morning, see a bearded man with a lens trained on my face huddled in the bushes.

My media training dictated that I appear emotionless. "You need to remain calm, Ms. Hawthorne," Effie Trinket told me in hushed tones over a lunch meeting in my kitchen one afternoon. "If you react, if you give these people any reason to gossip or speculate at all, it perpetuates the story." She pursed her lips and waited for me to respond in the affirmative.

"It's Everdeen," I told her flatly instead. "Katniss _Everdeen._"

Effie's bleached eyebrows shot up. "Oh! I thought… I thought that we agreed that you were not going to file for divorce at this juncture…" she mumbled, shuffling through her impressive stack of papers and notes, but obviously looking for an excuse to avoid my glare.

"_We _didn't agree on anything," I responded as smoothly as I could, given the circumstances. "And I'm not divorcing him. Not right now, at least."

In that moment, I swore that Effie looked like she was about to throw up.

I could almost see the headlines splashed across the front page of the paper, the look of mirthful glee painted on Caesar Flickerman's face on the evening news.

**BREAKING: BETRAYED POLITICIAN'S WIFE DIVORCES INCARCERATED CHEATING HUSBAND**

The divorce question would have to wait. For PR reasons, mainly, but also because it didn't make sense for me to divorce Gale while he was awaiting sentencing for his crimes. Not while I was still unemployed and unlikely to receive spousal support from an ex-husband behind bars.

But maybe making my PR rep blanch with fear once in a while gave me a measure of satisfaction.

The next time I caught a photographer pressing his grizzled face up against the glass window pane, I pushed Effie's superior tone out of my mind and flipped him off. The camera flashed, I scowled, and drew the curtains with a decisive snap.

_Let them talk._

…

"You've got to believe me," he says, reaching for my hands across the table. Before I can move them away, he has my hands folded up in his. Warm, as strong and powerful as I remember them in my memory. Politician's hands.

I sigh. "Gale, I don't know what to believe anymore." When I drop his gaze and stare down at our reflection in the table's streaked metal surface, I wince at the flash of orange. His prison jumpsuit, a smudge of color. But even in this reflection, it still looks too real.

"Then _believe me,_" he urges, squeezing my palm. "I didn't do it."

I've heard this so many times. How he didn't use state funds to pay for his prostitute. How he didn't cash in on sexual favors to win dicey cases in court. He didn't, he didn't, he didn't. That's all I hear these days.

For once, I'd like to hear him say, "Yeah, I did it." Hear him ask for my forgiveness, and actually have the patience to wait for it in return.

But I know my husband. He's too stubborn. Just like me.

I guess that's why I married him.

Loud beeping cuts in from the speaker overhead, and the heads of guards, prisoners and family members turn in tandem. _Visiting hours are now over. _Gale's gray eyes cut into mine. A pool of murky water.

"Katniss," he says, tightening his grip on my hand before the dull-eyed guards reach us to drag him away again. "He says I have a shot at acquittal."

Now, this is a new piece of information. "What? Who?" I ask, squinting at him.

"Haymitch Abernathy," he says, muttering the words under his breath. "He's from legal aid, said he'd work pro bono on this, given our financial situation." Then his dark eyebrows bunch together. "But it's weird. How he got my name in the first place."

I'm trying to wrap my head around this, the idea that someone is actually willing to take on Gale's case. Actually thinks that he can get my husband out of prison, after all the unconscionable things he has done. "Why's that?" I ask tiredly, rubbing my free hand over my eyes.

"He got a referral," Gale says darkly, as if that's enough to clear it up for me. But I've been out of the field for so long—ten years, since I've been taking care of my ailing mother, my destitute sister—that the implication is lost on me.

The guards are closing in, coming up behind him. I glance over Gale's shoulder, and his eyes lock on mine. Desperate.

"From Odair, Mellark & Associates."

His fingers are as cold as ice, and when I force myself to really look at him, I see that his eyes are about as devoid of warmth as his skin.

And when the guards cart him away back to his cell, I just watch his disappearing back and hear his unspoken question ringing in my ears.

_Why the hell is Peeta Mellark getting involved in my husband's trial?_

…

I didn't show emotion at the press conference. I stood with my spine straight, my eyes focused straight ahead, my face placid.

And the press nabbed me for it. Within hours of the event, they were making judgment calls they had no business making.

_See, she doesn't love him anymore._

_She doesn't trust him. You can see it in her face._

_They're filing for divorce. We have an eyewitness that saw her walk into a meeting at Odair, Mellark & Associates just last Tuesday. _

_She's incredibly brave to stand by her man like that. _

_What a coward. _

Did anyone consider that maybe I didn't want a divorce? That maybe I was still reeling from the shock of discovering Gale's affair?

I was so naïve. To think that we spent ten years together from law school through a successful state's attorney campaign. I stood by his side, ever the dutiful wife, because that's exactly what my mother did with my father. That's exactly who I thought I needed to be.

I gave up so much for him. Set aside my personal life so we could go on the road, pose for pictures, deliver campaign speeches to supporters and undecided voters, shake hands and make promises. And it wasn't because I was expecting anything in return. It was because I couldn't imagine doing anything else for him. My best friend.

And then he slept with some twenty-three year old prostitute. Slim, blonde, perky breasts. A mouth that looked slick with the sheen of secrets. Her name was Brenda-something, but she went by 'Glimmer' for the industry. When I found out about it, I still preferred to call her Glimmer, if I had to call her anything at all. Made her seem like less of a person, more of an idea.

I couldn't even show emotion when Gale finally sat me down and admitted everything. Couldn't process it, the image of him writhing around with this Capitol pin-up doll, when he told me all those years ago that I was the only one for him. I stared at him, slack-jawed and numb, and after he finished talking, I stood up slowly and wandered out of the room.

So that shot of me, tossing my middle finger up at the paparazzi as I moved to draw my curtains, is the first display of emotion I've had so far. And when it's plastered across the front of the _Daily News_, and Effie's shaking it in my face and whisper-shouting until she's nearly hoarse, I can't help but feel a little proud.

Because that's how I really feel about this whole thing.

Angry.

It's about time I showed it.


End file.
